Smooth Criminals: A Harley and Joker Origin Story
by TianaWarner
Summary: The transition from Harleen Quinzel to the Queen of Crime is a story of desire, surrender, and madness. A new take on the birth of Harley Quinn and The Joker. M for romance and violence reasons.
1. Chapter 1: Up In Flames

I didn't usually walk past the research facility on my way home from class, but when an explosion lit the sky one Thursday evening, I decided to detour.

Short of a lab rat escaping on Monday, this was the most exciting thing to happen all week.

I walked blindly, ears ringing. My face and bare legs prickled from the blast of heat.

The spots in my vision cleared as I rounded the corner onto Industrial Street. The building loomed against the black sky, eight storeys high with towers and smoke stacks. A barbed wire fence barricaded everything but the front entrance, where a tombstone-like sign read, _ACE Research Facility_.

Flames licked the sky from several windows in the north tower.

The police were outside, a carnival of blue and red lights. A handful of frightened-looking people stood clustered to the side — probably late-working employees.

I considered pulling out my phone but decided against it. A group of high school students was already filming. Besides, I didn't know what I'd do with the footage or who I'd show it to.

The front doors burst open, and two policemen dragged a handcuffed man from the building.

"They can't keep this away from the public! America has the right to everything inside!"

"Clearly you don't understand the idea of a _private_ research facility," said one of the officers.

Behind them, the flames reached higher, consuming several storeys and creating a building-sized bonfire. I wondered what the cops would do if I pulled out marshmallows and a box of graham crackers. I giggled. The high school students looked over, whispered something to each other, and walked away.

Over my shoulder, a man spoke.

"Well, someone's getting _fired_ for this."

I turned. "Oh, I don't know. I'd say they put the _lit_ in _facility_."

I found myself facing a young man, about my age. The first thing I noticed about him was his smile. His thin lips curled upwards, pulling back from a perfect row of teeth. His eyebrows arched in a mysterious, almost wicked way, but for the soft eyes beneath them. His green irises glinted in the flames as they travelled from my blond hair, down my V-neck shirt, to my skirt, and then back to my face.

"You all right?" he said. "You weren't inside, were you?"

I tried to speak, but my tongue wouldn't cooperate. His concern for me was adorable.

I turned back to the flaming building. "I was just passing."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Arson. They cuffed someone."

Even without looking at this stranger, I found it hard to speak. He smelled so good. Was that chocolate?

The side of my body nearest him became warmer than the side nearest the flames.

"What were you laughing at?" he said.

"Do you think those flames are toxic?"

"Coming from ACE? Most definitely."

"Too bad. I was wondering what would happen if I tried to roast a marshmallow."

That was the first time I heard him laugh. It was the most beautiful sound. I wanted to save it in a wine bottle, like people did with tiny ships, and I could open that bottle whenever I felt sad and listen to it over and over. I imagined pulling my water bottle from my bag, pressing it to his lips, wrapping my other hand around his throat and squeezing the laughter into the bottle.

He caught me staring.

I smiled. "What's your name, mister?"

"Call me Jay."

"Just Jay?"

He tilted his head, giving me a crooked grin that weakened my knees.

"Well, Mister _Jay_. Pleased to meet you. I'm Harl—"

A wailing fire truck rounded the corner, drowning my words.

"Harley?" said Jay.

"Harleen."

"Oh. I like Harley."

 _Harley_. I'd never been called that before. I looked past him, then met his green eyes again, feeling my lips quirk but not letting myself smile.

"You can call me Harley."

He broke our gaze, glancing in the direction of the research facility. "I have to go."

I wanted to tell him to wait, but before I could get the word out, he disappeared down the dark street.

Someone stopped behind me. I turned to see a police officer. His forehead glistened; a muscle in his jaw twitched. He rubbed a hand over his throat, as though trying to loosen it.

Textbook anxiety symptoms.

 _What's got you so worked up, mister?_

"Miss, did you see anything?"

"Well, that building is on fire," I said, pointing.

The officer frowned. I glanced to his name badge.

"I was on my way home, Mister O'Brien."

His gaze shifted from my face, to my school bag, to my legs. I pulled my skirt down a little.

"Who was that kid you were with?"

"I don't know."

"Not your boyfriend?"

So many questions. Plus that inflated air of responsibility. Probably the oldest child.

"No," I said shortly, and then added for good measure, "My boyfriend is at home."

He squinted at me. "Did he tell you his name?"

I wondered if I'd made a mistake by hovering around.

"No. He was passing by and asked what happened."

Officer O'Brien glanced down the empty street behind me. "There may still be suspects in the area, miss. Are you able to call your boyfriend to pick you up?"

"I can walk, thank you."

"Miss, I strongly advise you don't walk home—"

I turned away. "I strongly advise you don't underestimate my self-defence."

The cop spoke into his radio. "Nelson, can you give this young lady a ride?"

I stopped, fists clenched.

The radio crackled and a woman's voice said, "Sure thing."

Across the street, the fire truck unravelled its hose, and they began to smother the flames.

An awkward car ride later, the lady cop dropped me off and I let myself into my apartment. Eleven o'clock. I stripped down and flopped on my bed, burying my face in the duvet. I inhaled a mix of perfume and hairspray.

My mind was on the stranger who'd come and gone from my life so quickly — that spark of excitement before the cops doused it. I regretted not making him wait. At least I could have tried to get his number.

Oh, who was I kidding? I'd never asked for a guy's number before.

I picked up my phone and called the only person I ever called.

"Someone's up past her bedtime," said Pam in her deep, calming voice.

"How's Alaska?"

"Seattle."

"Close enough."

"It's fine," she said. "Class is fun. My biochem prof is cute."

"Lucky. My profs are all old. And they're creeps."

"Maybe you should try dressing more modestly."

"I can't help it if people find me vexing."

Pam snorted.

I rolled onto my back and rested my heels against the wall. "I met someone today."

"Someone who's not an old creep?"

I told her about the explosion and the run-in with the handsome stranger.

"What, he was just lingering around the crime site? He sounds like a weirdo, Harleen."

"Harley."

"What?"

"He calls me Harley," I said with a dreamy sigh. "I like it better."

"All right, _Harley_. When are you seeing him again?"

I said nothing.

"You didn't exchange numbers, did you?"

"I don't know how to ask a boy out!"

She sighed.

We were quiet for a few seconds. Then I said, "Why'd you have to leave, Red?"

"Look, when New York gets a better botany program, I'll come home. For now…"

"Have you made friends?"

"Ha."

"Good," I said. "I was worried I was the only loner."

"Don't ever worry about that."

I listened to the rhythmic thumping coming from my upstairs neighbors, wishing they would shut up and go to sleep already. I satisfied myself by imagining smothering them with a pillow.

"Maybe we should both be trying harder to be social, Red. What'dya say? Ready to _branch out_ over there in the botany department?"

"Sounds exhausting."

"All I know is my ten-second run-in with Mister Handsome was the most action I've had in months."

"Why don't you go to a club?" said Pam. "I'm sure some stranger would love to grind up against you."

I considered. "I do like dancing."

"Then go dance your face off."

Maybe she was right. I needed to do something besides study alone in my apartment every night.

Still, I decided I'd detour past the research facility tomorrow. Maybe he lived around there.

"Go find a different handsome stranger," said Pam, as though reading my thoughts. "One who doesn't hang around a crime site and disappear when the cops arrive."

I pulled a face at the phone. "Nighty night, Red."

"Night… _Harley_."


	2. Chapter 2: Dance With Me

The problem with nightclubs is that you have to endure a hundred pervy guys for every cute one.

I reserved Saturdays for dancing my face off, like Pam suggested. I made a few friends — ones I wouldn't have to pretend to care about during the rest of the week — but I became good at slipping away if any creeps became too persistent.

Though I tried to avoid it, I compared everyone to Jay. I wished I'd never let him get away from me. The flames cooking the sky that night had nothing on the spark between us.

Then, one spring Saturday as I walked into the Tap Room, his presence engulfed me like a layer of skin. I _smelled_ him.

I caught sight of him at a booth, wearing a black leather jacket and looking even more handsome than I remembered. I turned away. Should I wave? Go up to him? What would I say? We'd met months ago. He probably wouldn't remember me, and then I'd look like an idiot for thinking otherwise.

But I felt his eyes follow me to the bar and then back to the dance floor. If he recognized me, he didn't come over. Two hours went by. And then I saw him chatting up the tattooed brunette sitting next to him. Who were those people he was with? They looked older.

In my effort not to look at Jay, I made eye contact with a military buzzcut at the pool table. He waved me over. He and his friends were a foot taller than me, with overtrained arms and necks like tree trunks. They were probably part of some sports team — or gym rats pretending to be.

I decided to go for it, if only to stop freaking out over my non-conversation with Jay.

Buzzcut looked way too excited as I approached. He glanced to his friends as if to say, "Are you seeing this, guys?"

"Hey, mister," I said over the booming music.

Jay was watching. I felt his gaze as though he was right behind me, breathing on my skin.

"That shirt looks good on you," said Buzzcut. "You know, it would look even better off you."

I wanted to say, "It would look even better rammed down your windpipe."

Instead — because Jay was watching — I laughed. If I'd heard that fake trill coming from another girl, it would have made me want to punch her in the throat.

"I'm Kurt," said Buzzcut, leaning on his pool cue.

"Harley."

I'd been giving the nickname to strangers. In class, I was Harleen, and I wore pencil skirts and a bun and carried a laptop. On weekends, I was Harley, and I wore hair extensions and contact lenses and jean shorts that showed too much ass.

"What are you drinking, Harley?"

"I'm good for now, thanks," I said, swirling my G&T.

"We're headed to the bar," said Kurt's friend. "We'll grab you another."

"No, thanks." I didn't fancy drinking something these frat boys brought me.

"Get her a martini," said Kurt.

He leaned over the pool table to line up his shot. I slammed my hand over two balls, stopping him.

"I said I don't want one."

Kurt faltered. He glanced up at me, cleared his throat, and said over his shoulder, "Just a beer."

I scanned his perfectly ironed shirt and plucked eyebrows. Mama's boy. Probably still lived with her.

Kurt composed himself and took the shot, sinking a ball.

"So, Harley, what do you like to do for fun?"

"I'm a student. My only hobby is studying."

"Let me guess: English major."

"Psychology."

"Ooh," he said. "So you can read my mind?"

I gaped at him. Was this guy for real?

With his chiselled face and biceps, I entertained the idea that he would be more useful stuffed, or mounted on a wall.

 _Common American Jock,_ the plaque would say. _Ensnared in his natural habitat._

"So, what sports team are you boys—?" I froze. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

Kurt peeled his gaze away and raised his perfect eyebrows.

"That's my girl you're sweet-talkin'," said a husky voice.

An arm slid firmly around my waist. My breath hitched as Jay pulled me to him, our hips touching.

Kurt glanced between us. For a moment, I thought he was going to call bullshit. He had several inches on Jay in every direction. But he stepped back.

"Sorry, man. I didn't know."

I met Jay's piercing green eyes. Beneath a hardness, I caught a glimmer of amusement that I tried to return with the hint of a smile.

In my peripheral vision, Kurt glanced around. He caught sight of his friends — or at least pretended to — and disappeared into the crowd.

"I ain't your girl," I said to Jay.

He kept holding my waist. "Yes, you are."

His breath tickled my skin. Inhaling became difficult.

I drained my G&T.

"Then as my man, are you gonna let me stand here with an empty glass?"

He motioned towards the bar, thin lips pulling into that mischievous smile. I led the way. Facing away from him, I tried to compose myself. The feel of his hand on my waist had sent my heart into a frenzy.

He bought me a double, and a whiskey on the rocks for himself.

While we waited for the bartender, he leaned in.

"When my friends invited me to a birthday party tonight, I expected balloons and cake."

The feel of his breath on my face dizzied me. Then a drunk guy bumped into us, hollering about a round of shots.

I sighed. "There's still time to play pin the tail on the jackass, if you want."

Jay grinned.

The drunk ordered two dozen pudding shots. Jay snatched a couple from the tray and offered me one.

"Cheers, Mister Jay," I said.

We slurped them back. I licked the vanilla flavor from the inside — then caught Jay watching me and blushed.

"Never thought I'd be jealous of pudding," he said.

I dropped my gaze, my face positively on fire.

We pushed back through the crowd with our drinks and found an empty cocktail table.

"Harley, you ever think about the night ACE went up in flames?"

"Yes," I said breathlessly. "Always. I'm so glad you—"

"I did some digging. I found out what that guy was after."

"Oh." Hoping he didn't catch my stupidity, I added, "What'd you find?"

"The guy was yelling about his rights as an American, yeah?"

I nodded.

"What right do Americans viciously protect?" he said.

I looked around, thinking. My eyes landed on the bouncer near the door, biceps bigger than my quads and an expression like he was ready to shoot someone in the skull.

"Guns," I said.

Jay leaned in. "ACE is developing the best the world has ever seen."

My eyes widened.

"I want these guns," he said. "We're American citizens. We have the right to them. Don't you think, Harley?"

My stomach fluttered when he said my name like that. _Harley._ It rolled off his tongue so smoothly.

I nodded slowly. Maybe he was right. This private research facility was violating our rights by withholding these weapons.

Jay drained his whiskey in one gulp.

"This tastes like batteries. Another round?"

"Nope."

I slurped the rest of my drink and stepped away from the table. Jay raised an eyebrow.

I backed onto the dance floor. "Dance with me, Mister Jay."

His mouth twisted into a grin.

I moved my hips, pretending not to notice the way his eyes traced over my legs, waist, and chest.

He stepped closer and extended a hand. I took it. He pulled me towards him. I pressed close, inhaling his scent of whiskey, leather, and that hint of something sweet, like chocolate or butterscotch.

He spun me, then pulled me in so my back was to his chest. I swayed with him, leaning my head against his neck. His warm hand slid around my waist and pressed against my stomach. Everything inside me tingled. His other hand clasped my wrist firmly, like he would never let me go.

Too soon, he spun me away.

I was at arm's length when someone's fingers clamped around my tush. I let go of Jay and whirled to see a pencil mustache and sunglasses standing behind me. It was one of Buzzcut's friends.

I snarled. "Watch your hands, mister."

"One dance, sexy." His voice was a drunken slur. "You're not getting away from us that easy."

He grabbed my waist, pulling me in, breathing stale beer on me.

Without thinking about it, I punched him. Jab, cross, _POW!_ Something cracked. He went down. The nearest people stumbled as he fell into them.

His friends saw. One of them stormed towards me through the mess of people. Jay was there in two steps. He punched the guy in the nose, sending him crashing backwards into the crowd.

Though the music blared, the people around us had fallen silent. Arms wrapped around my waist, and someone lifted me off my feet and threw me away from the dance floor.

"Get out!"

It was the enormous bouncer. I raised my hands in surrender.

Another bouncer grabbed Jay by the arm and the two of them hauled him towards the back door.

"Wait!" I ran after them.

They kicked open the door and shoved Jay into the alley. He stumbled, but regained his balance.

"Get out of here, assholes," said one of them.

The door slammed, plunging us into silence.

A moment passed where Jay and I stood in the empty alley, staring at the door. My heart hammered. I wondered if Jay would ever want to see me again after that.

After a hesitation, I met Jay's gaze.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the dark street, breathing fast. In heels, I ran to keep up — and even then I was always a step behind him, watching the back of his neck. The feel of his smooth palm against mine did nothing to calm my pulse.

"Are you angry?"

Jay didn't respond.

"We can go to a different place, if you want. I hear Iceberg is fun — but maybe a bit swanky."

Still, he said nothing. We kept walking down the empty street, me breaking into a run every few steps. The street swam in front of me, my heels suddenly too high. That pudding shot followed by a double highball had been a bad idea.

We reached a block with an old highrise and Jay turned towards it. I followed him up the steps.

"Where we going, pudding?" I said teasingly.

He glanced back, then, and grinned a little. My stomach flipped.

Jay stopped outside the glass doors and fumbled in his pockets with the hand that wasn't grasping mine. Our palms were slick, and he was gripping tightly enough to numb my fingers, but I held on, not wanting him to let go.

"Is this your apartment?" I said.

He flashed a key over the black box beside the door, and the lock clicked. He wrenched the door open and I jogged in after him.

He rammed the elevator button. The doors opened immediately. We stepped inside.

As the doors closed, Jay let go of my hand.

I clenched my fist, fingers tingling. He turned. His green eyes bored into me. My breath hitched.

He shoved me against the wall and kissed me hard. One hand reached around the small of my back and the other pushed into my hair.

I moaned. His forceful hands and open mouth and body against mine was too much to process. A warmth rose in my stomach and worked its way to my fingers, and then my toes, and then my brain, dizzying me.

The elevator doors opened and Jay pulled back. I gasped.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me out. His door was the first on the right. In the time it took him to unlock the door and pull me inside, my brain finally registered what was happening.

"Jay—"

The door slammed behind us and he kissed me again, pushing me down the hall. I knotted my fingers in his hair. His hands slid around my lower back and travelled downwards. I pressed my hips into his. He picked me up. I wrapped my legs around him, feeling his body against mine.

I held his face between my hands, working my tongue over his, then leaned down to kiss his neck. I only got two pecks in before he threw me onto the bed.

He removed his belt. I watched him, breathing fast.

He nodded to me. "Undress."

"Yes sir," I said, and then wondered where the _sir_ had come from.

I stalled as he peeled off his shirt. His chest and abs were more chiselled than I'd given him credit for.

"Harley," he purred, sending a tremor through me.

I bit my lip, and removed my shirt slowly. I played with my hair. Then I unclasped my bra. His eyes never left me. I stripped off my shorts, and my underwear.

He crawled on top of me, pushing me against the pillows. I tried to grab him and roll him over, but he wouldn't let me. He pinned both my wrists above my head.

What followed was the best night of my life. We had sex five times. I had to give Mister Jay kudos for stamina. I didn't care that he stayed on top each time, or that his mouth didn't travel anywhere but my lips. I'd never wanted anyone so badly. I could have kept going.

His bedroom glowed faintly in the sunrise as we lay catching our breaths.

"So, where did Harley learn to punch like that?" he said. "I think you broke that guy's nose."

"I kickbox four days a week."

He chuckled. I closed my eyes, listening to his heartbeat. I considered the ways I could keep him here forever — bribing him with food and sex, or sewing him to the bed.

I began to wonder if Jay had fallen asleep when he said, "You'll come with me, then?"

I traced my fingers over his chest and across his jawline.

"Where?"

"To ACE. To get those guns."

"Puddin', you know the man they were dragging out of there was probably nutso."

"He wasn't. He knows something we don't. Imagine what could be in there, Harley."

In his excitement, his arm tightened around me. I snuggled closer, wanting to be a part of that passion. I could be, if I wanted. He was asking me to join him.

The prospect of the two of us breaking into the research facility sent a thrill through my veins.

"You're saying it's our right to own whatever weapons ACE is making," I said. "America just needs someone brave enough to go in there and get them."

He kissed the top of my head. "Exactly."


	3. Chapter 3: ACE Chemicals

A weapons heist was not a particularly romantic option for a first date — but I'd never been so excited for a night out. Hair and makeup done to perfection, I knocked on Mister Jay's door.

"What's the plan, boss?" I said when he let me in. "Scale the walls? Blow open a window? Pick a lock?"

He passed me a pizza box. "Knock on the front door."

I blinked.

He pulled on his leather jacket. "At this time of night, there will still be a couple of employees working late. They let us in, we mow them down, and we go on our merry way."

The box was warm, and a mouth-watering pizza smell wafted at me.

"Did you just order this?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you use an empty box?"

"You gotta play the part, baby! Besides, now we have a snack if we get hungry."

He reached deep into his coat closet and pulled out a silver revolver. I sucked in a breath. Jay saw my expression, grinned, and slid the weapon inside his jacket without a word. I wondered if he knew where to go once we were inside ACE. I wondered if there was more to the plan than he was telling me. I wondered how many guns he planned to steal. I didn't ask any of this.

Jay slung his arm over my shoulder and we left. We strode down the dark streets, his arm wrapped firmly around me, the revolver bumping my ribs with each step.

We stopped beside the _ACE Research Facility_ sign. A fence stretched into the darkness on either side, barbed wire coiled at the top. A stone path led to the front door.

Jay placed a hand under my chin. "I'll be right beside you, baby, just out of sight."

I nodded. He kissed my forehead, sending a flutter to my toes.

Pizza box resting on my palm, I stepped up to the door and knocked. Though my heart thrummed, I felt no more nervous than if we'd been pulling a prank.

A scruffy man in jeans and a faded black tee opened.

"Delivery!" I sang.

For effect, I jutted my hip like a sassy waitress at a fifties diner.

The guy stared at me, then said over his shoulder, "Frank, did you order—?"

I kicked him in the groin. He bent double and I slammed my elbow on his head. He sprawled flat, unconscious.

I picked up the fallen pizza box as Jay stepped up behind me.

"Oh, Harley. You know how to take a man's breath away."

He bent and took the guy's keycard.

"Hey!" someone shouted, who must have been this Frank guy.

Jay shot him.

The _BANG!_ echoed off the walls and sucked the breath from my lungs. A dark splotch bloomed across his victim's white polo shirt. The man's eyes widened. He clutched his chest. His knees buckled.

My heart jumped into action, pounding against my ribs. This was happening. No messing around. I didn't know whether to be scared or exhilarated.

My body chose an entirely different reaction. That guy's death was a moment Jay and I shared — a secret, a bond, intensely personal. Jay had chosen me to be the person he trusted enough to murder with. No deeper connection could exist between two people. We would always have it. He was mine now, and I was his.

My ears rang from the gunshot. Anyone on the floor would have heard — and maybe the floor above.

We waited, but no one came running.

"Leave that here," said Jay, pointing at the pizza.

I obeyed.

Jay sauntered into the brightly lit atrium, revolver up by his ear, shoes squeaking on the tiled floor. I followed. I sensed his heightened energy like an electric current flowing between us.

He stopped at the directory in the centre of the atrium and studied it quietly. I checked over my shoulder, wishing I had a revolver too.

"There," said Jay abruptly, making me jump.

He used the revolver to point to the north wing on the map. There, on the third floor, were the words _Chemical Firearms_.

"Chemical?" I said. "What does that mean?"

He waved his arms. "It's experimental science, Harley."

I followed him to the north elevator at a jog, glancing around.

"What do you do with a dead chemist?" he said, pushing the _up_ button.

I shrugged.

"You barium."

I giggled. He gave me a sidelong smile.

"First floor, going up," said the elevator serenely.

We stepped inside. My stomach swooped as we rose.

"Third floor," said the elevator.

We exited to an empty hallway. Jay turned right and walked purposefully.

The door was, of course, locked. Jay flashed the keycard. The box blinked red. Jay tried again. Red.

"Blast," I said.

"My thoughts exactly."

Jay aimed his gun at the handle. I plugged my ears.

The bullet ricocheted with a _CLINK!_ He fired several more times in the same place. The handle snapped and an alarm started wailing, filling the hallway.

Jay kicked the door open. "Pick your weapons and let's blow outta—"

His eyes widened.

Assault rifles, sniper rifles, and handguns littered worktables and hung on the walls. The ones on the tables were in varying degrees of completion. The ones on the walls looked like functioning prototypes.

Jay swept along the left wall, brushing his fingers across each weapon.

I checked out the pistols on the right wall. I plucked a sleek grey one from its rack. It was cool beneath my skin, and lighter than expected. The grip fit my hand like it had been custom made for me.

I glanced around for a target. Nothing suited, so I aimed for a blank space of wall at the back of the room.

I used two hands, expecting a strong recoil. I squeezed the trigger.

In the space of a second, at least thirty bullets left the barrel. It happened smoothly, unnoticeable in my hands. I didn't hear it beneath the screaming alarm.

I gaped at the wall, a sheet of Swiss cheese, and then at the gun in my hands. How had that many bullets come out of something so small?

Jay stepped over to me. He didn't take the pistol, but raised my wrist gently, examining the weapon and my hand like they were a single entity.

He pointed to the stock, which had _ACE_ engraved in block letters. He leaned in so I could hear him over the alarm.

"There are your chemicals. See the liquid? Must be a compression chamber. It converts the solution to bullets."

I nodded, though I was too distracted by his breath tickling my cheek to register what he said.

He turned back to the wall of rifles. "As for me: I'm feeling warm fuzzies for this sniper—"

"Hands off," said a woman's voice.

We whirled. A twenty-something girl stood in the doorway, trembling hands closed over a pistol.

"The police will be here any second," she said over the screaming alarm. "If you come quietly, you won't be charged for stealing."

No, this chick was not about to ruin our date night.

I stepped closer, my new pistol raised. "You know, puss, you're missing a good party downstairs. We brought pizza."

"I saw."

"Then you know we'll be charged for a lot more than stealing."

"I can't let you take these," she said, quavering.

Her eyes flicked to the wall beside Jay — a tiny, seemingly insignificant act that betrayed everything.

Jay reached out, hovering over a sniper rifle. The girl kept her aim steady. Jay moved his hand to the assault rifle next to it. The girl tensed, her fear palpable.

Jay clicked his tongue. "I hope you don't play poker."

He plucked the weapon off the rack.

"Stop!" the girl screamed.

At once, Jay aimed the rifle at the girl, and she aimed her pistol at the wall beside him.

Several things exploded. Jay and I were launched into the air. I caught a fleeting glimpse of a car-sized hole in the floor where Jay's rifle had fired. The tile, concrete, and framing had vaporized. Then my back collided with a table, and I crumpled to the floor.

I gasped, writhing, certain I'd bruised my spine.

Then I heard the worst sound ever to meet my ears: Jay screaming in fear.

I leapt to my feet, forgetting my pain.

"Jay!"

I couldn't see him. I cast around before seeing fingers clinging to the edge of the hole in the floor.

I lunged for him, landing on my stomach. I closed my fingers around his wrists.

"I've got you, puddin'."

His legs swung desperately. His green eyes locked onto mine, wide with fear.

Far below, a room of chemicals sprawled. Pool-sized vats of liquid bubbled, fluorescent yellow, releasing wisps of pale smoke. One was directly below Jay. Whatever it was, I couldn't let him fall into it.

The girl lay beside it. She'd missed the vat and landed on the concrete. Blood pooled around her body. Several weapons had fallen with her.

I glanced back, seeking something to hook my legs around.

"Jay, I can't ..." I choked back a sob.

His fingers slipped from the edge. I shrieked.

He clamped around my wrists. "Baby, don't let me fall."

The fear in his voice squeezed my heart. I shook my head, tears spilling from my eyes. I would never.

Then we were both slipping, his weight pulling me over the edge.

I slid faster, accelerating. I stopped holding back my sobs.

 _Let go,_ said a voice in the back of my mind. _You can save yourself if you let him go._

But Jay's fingers were still around my wrists. Even if I wanted to let go — to betray the man who'd made me feel so alive — I wouldn't be able to. We were together, now. Either we both died, or we survived whatever was in that vat.

And then we were falling. I kept my eyes open, wanting Jay's to be the last thing I saw.

️*

 _This is a fanfiction and the characters are not my own. If you like my writing, please check out my published stories at tianawarner . com :)_


	4. Chapter 4: The Joker and his Harlequin

The acid swirled around me, wrapping my skin, flooding my mouth and nose and eyes. It pierced my flesh, peeling it away, eating me alive.

I gagged. A bubble escaped my lips and floated into the yellow murk. Something in the back of my mind told me that was upwards. I swam desperately after it. White spots bloomed in my vision.

My head broke the surface. I tried to yell for Jay but couldn't move my tongue.

 _I'm alive,_ I kept thinking. _Jay could be alive, too._

I paddled blindly, feeling nothing beyond my stinging flesh, finding the edge of the vat when I bumped into it. Somehow, I found the strength to heave myself out.

Was I on fire? Was my skin sizzling like bacon in a pan? I wondered if anything would be left of me — if I would become a pile of ash, or less.

But a long moment passed, and I stayed conscious.

That stupid girl. I should have splattered her brains across the wall the moment she spoke. If not for her, Jay wouldn't have had to shoot the assault rifle so recklessly. We would still be upstairs — maybe with a hole in the wall, but definitely not with one in the floor.

I became aware of the wailing alarm, and the feel of the cold cement beneath my skin. The burning subsided. I opened my eyes to a warehouse-like room yawning before me, full of vats and barrels and ominous warning labels that made me think no living thing should be here without a hazmat suit.

My eyes locked onto Jay. He was on all fours, retching. Alive. He caught his breath and scrambled towards the rifle that did this to us.

I sat up, trembling, and cast around for another weapon. Several littered the floor — including my pistol. I heaved myself to my feet and snatched it.

My clothes had mostly been eaten. Rags hung from my body. Beneath, my skin was intact, but pale. More than pale. The acid had bleached my skin.

I didn't have time to panic about that. Above, the police had arrived on the third floor, shouting. Someone silenced the alarm.

"We gotta go," I said, my voice a croak. I pulled Jay by the armpit.

Jay raised the assault rifle with a grunt and blasted a hole in the wall. The recoil made him buckle over. I held onto him, refusing to let him fall again.

We ran to the bus-sized window to the outside world, stopping at the edge. We were two storeys up. The wind billowed, whirling under my torn clothes and over my damp skin. I shivered.

Overhead, the police shouted. They wanted us to surrender.

Jay reached for my hand. I linked our fingers and squeezed.

An apple tree grew below us. We aimed for it, and jumped.

"North wing," a cop shouted. "They're headed—"

My stomach swooped at the free fall. After the pool of acid, the tree branches felt like a foam pit. We shinnied down and sprinted into the darkness.

The chain-link fence ran beside us, topped with a coil of barbed wire. I began to wonder how we would get out when I saw an opening.

I skidded to a stop.

"Puddin'! Here!"

The fence curled at the bottom, a hole big enough for a dog. Jay dropped and pushed the rifle through, then crawled after it. I followed.

We ran along the back of the research facility, staying away from the main roads. Sirens split the air.

A drunk man and woman in the alley called to us as we approached. They shut up when they saw our weapons.

The tumult from ACE faded into the distance. I stayed half a step behind Jay as we ran, letting him lead.

We kept running until my lungs were ready to burst and I wanted to vomit.

After a series of alleys and dark side-streets, we paused, listening for sirens or footsteps. Nothing. We turned on a final sprint to Jay's apartment.

We stumbled inside and crumpled on the living room floor, coughing and wheezing too hard to speak.

For a long time, we sat there, catching our breaths and wiping sweat from our faces. The only light came from the streetlamps outside.

"You all right, Mister Jay?"

My voice was so weak, I barely heard it.

"My skin," he said. "Look what it did to me."

We were both ghosts — hair, skin, even eyebrows. The most colourful thing about Jay was his eyes, which were, blissfully, still green.

I crawled closer. "It's okay, puddin'. We can fix this."

"We can't! You think this is like a suntan that'll fade in a few weeks?"

"No, but—"

He shoved me away.

 _But we had survived._ We were together. We'd gotten the weapons like Jay had wanted. That was what mattered. I couldn't let this stumble ruin everything.

My purse sat by the entrance. I reached into it with trembling hands.

"Look. We need a little makeup, is all. All good criminals need a disguise, don't they?"

He narrowed his eyes, seeming to consider.

I swiped my lipstick on thick, then reached for my eyeliner. I tried my best without a mirror. I drew a black line over each eyelid from forehead to cheek.

"I'm a harlequin! Get it? _Harley_ -quin."

He stared at me. After a long moment, he started laughing. I laughed with him.

"Harley Quinn," he said, reaching for my lipstick. "You think the world will run from a pair of clowns?"

I twirled my pistol. "They'll run."

Jay opened his hands and studied his white flesh. "A disguise…"

He rubbed his fingertips together. I wondered if he felt the same sting across his flesh as I did.

His eyes widened. He looked up at me, thin lips cracking into a grin.

"Harley, we don't have fingerprints."

I examined my fingers. The acid had peeled away layers of skin, leaving a fresh, unidentifiable one.

Jay caressed his rifle. "You know what we can do with this power, baby?"

"Anything we want?"

"Exactly."

We had weapons, disguises, and the desire. We could pull off perfect crimes.

I grinned, sliding my hand over my pistol, feeling the prize beneath my tingling skin.

"Well, Mister Jay, what do you want to steal first?"

xx

Jay squeezed the trigger. The assault rifle blew away the glass doors, the walls beside them, and the security guards in the entrance.

As I bounded into the casino, everyone inside screamed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," I said, opening my arms. "I present your evening's entertainment: the one and only Mister Jay!"

The sight of him stepping through the opening set my heart aflutter — assault rifle in hand, dust swirling around him, eyes blackened, thin lips painted into a devilish red grin, hair dyed to match his green eyes. He wore a tuxedo, and for effect, he'd pinned on one of those flowers that squirts water.

"Thank you, Harley _Quinn_ ," he said, giving me a wink that turned my knees to jelly.

At once, several security guards closed on all sides, bellowing. "Drop your weapons! Get down!"

I shot four in one motion, spraying thirty bullets at once. Jay blasted away the rest, plus anyone near them.

Save for the ringing in my ears, the room fell silent. My pulse accelerated, bursting with adrenaline. I scanned the bodies. All those lives had been snuffed because of me. Because of _us_.

"Now, for my second trick," said Jay. "If everyone could please hand over their wallets, you'll see me make them disappear."

I pranced to the nearest blackjack table and pulled a pillowcase from my sleeve. The men and women at the table dropped their wallets inside like hot potatoes.

Their mouths hung open as they stared at me. I wasn't sure if it was my pistol or my attire. I ran a hand over the red and black harlequin bodysuit, relishing the stretchy material.

Jay strode to the cashiers' booths and looted those.

"Hey, Mister Jay, why don't they play poker in Kenya?" I said while the next table produced their wallets. "Because of all the cheetahs!"

Something whizzed by my ear and blew a hole in the wall behind me. I ducked.

"I'll see your bullet and raise you one," shouted Jay.

I plugged my ears.

The room shook, dust billowing. When I stood, two poker tables were now holes in the floor, and bodies lay around them.

"Anyone else wanna play?" said Jay.

The room was silent. The casino scent of cigarettes, fried food, and cologne had been replaced with a mix of burnt plastic and fear.

I straightened my jester hat. While more patrons unloaded their wallets, I scooped up a deck of cards and threw them overhead. They fluttered around me like confetti.

I picked up the one that landed in front of me. "Ooh, Mister Jay. It looks like you."

He finished looting the cashiers' booths and strode over. He took the card from me, tilting his head.

"I can see the front page," he said. "Casino heist by _The Joker_ and his harlequin."

I gave a squeak of delight, then stood on my toes and kissed his cheek.

"Of course, you'll still be my Mister J. But J is for Joker."

He tucked the card into his jacket's inner pocket.

I backed into the middle of the room, wiggling my shoulders to a tune that wasn't there, exhilarated by the way everyone gave us their rapt attention.

I held out a hand and said in my best sexy voice, "Dance with me, Mister J."

He laughed, that sweet sound I wanted to bottle up and keep.

He took my hand and twirled me, pulling me into his chest. He bit my ear, sending a shiver to my toes, then let me go. He swept towards the slot machines.

"Come on, folks," I said, shaking the pillowcase. "Place your bets! We pay out fairly. Promise."

A middle-aged man with pockmarked skin stood. "Why don't we bet on which of you clowns will get shot down first: the green-haired freak or his henchwench."

"Oh, that's really funny." I sauntered over, twirling my pistol. "You want to join our act? Go on, tell another one."

"I ain't giving you my wallet," he said. "You think you're gettin' away with something here — but you and your freak boyfriend will be leaving here in a hearse."

I slammed him in the chest with two hands. He stumbled but stayed on his feet.

"Call Mister J a freak again, mister."

He wound back to punch me, and I kicked him in the groin. He buckled over. I stepped in and kneed him, then gave a hard uppercut, hook, and finished with a hammerfist, sending him sprawling on his stomach. He curled on his side with a pathetic whimper.

I kicked him. He slid a couple of inches. I kicked again, rolling him on his back.

He swung at the back of my knees. I hopped out of the way, then came down hard on his ribs with my elbow. Something cracked. He spluttered.

I straddled him and punched his face. One, two, _SNAP!_

Blood poured from his nose, warm on my fingers. One, two, three, _BAM!_

He was unconscious. I kept punching, watching the blood spray, covering his face, my hands.

Someone was shouting my name.

"Harley! Stop!"

Arms wrapped around my waist and I found myself lifted into the air. I flailed for a moment before Mister J spun me to face him.

I steadied myself. Mister J's eyes were wide, his jaw slack.

He licked his lips.

I laughed. The sound started deep in my throat, a low chuckle, and then rose, uncontrollable.

I kissed him, then pulled away, still laughing. I noticed a red smear on his chin and realized it came from my face. I looked down and saw blood all down my front and on my hands.

Sirens wailed outside.

"Got carried away, didn't I, boss?"

Blood pooled at our feet. The man was a pulp, unrecognizable. He wasn't breathing.

Mister J stared at me with a funny expression, like he couldn't decide whether to laugh.

"No, baby. You're wonderful."

He grabbed my hand. I picked up my pillowcase and my pistol, and we ran for the back door.

Mister J aimed his rifle at the wall and we blasted out of there.

I let out a giggle, unable to contain my elation. The Joker and his harlequin, unidentifiable, unstoppable, were on their way to becoming Gotham's most notorious criminals.


	5. Chapter 5: A Match Made in Hell

Saturdays had become our date nights.

We hadn't bought much with the stolen cash yet, but I did upgrade my wardrobe a few times. Tonight, I wore sparkly red and black shorts, and a white shirt on which I'd painted Mister J's smile.

We blasted through the front doors of the movie theatre. The line to the ticket counter was packed, as were the automated machines and concessions. Overhead, an enormous spaceship hung alongside posters advertising current showings. The place reeked of popcorn and sweat.

Screams erupted, and everyone in the lobby hit the floor.

"Take your seats, ladies and gents," I shouted. "It's showtime."

Their eyes followed us as we stepped inside, heads peeking over booths and ticket machines like gophers.

I shook my pillowcase. "Wallets, diamonds, and cell phones, please! If I see any of you making a call, you'll have thirty bullets in your head before you can finish dialing."

"It's the Joker," someone whispered, and then others. "It's the Joker and his girl. Look. It's them!"

Sitting beside us in the ticket line, a blondie raised her phone. The camera made a loud _CLICK!_

I was over to her in three steps. I bent and snatched the phone from her manicured hands.

"Wait!" she said, reaching for it. "Can I send the picture to my friend first?"

I leaned back, appraising her. She stared up at me with huge doe eyes.

"What the hell," I said, and passed the phone back. "Here, take a better one."

I leaned in. She held the phone out for a selfie. I pressed my gun to her temple and stuck out my tongue.

She took the photo, sent the text, and passed me the phone.

"Wallet, puss," I said.

Blondie dug out her wallet and passed it to me.

Mister J was already behind the concession counter, dumping entire drawers of cash into his bag. Loose change clinked onto the floor.

"You should all be grateful," he said. "The burden of money and possessions… You don't need it. We're setting you free."

I walked the perimeter of the lobby, encouraging people to move quickly by twirling my gun around my finger.

"What a place for a date!" said Mister J, rummaging through the candy display. "Nothing says _I love you_ like a ten dollar bag of Skittles."

I giggled.

The man kneeling in front of me snarled like a dog. He didn't produce his wallet.

I let my smile fall like a snuffed flame. "What's wrong, mister?"

I leaned down and combed through his salt-and-pepper hair. He refused to meet my eyes. I placed a finger under his chin.

"You don't think Mister J is funny?"

The man scowled but said nothing. I pressed my gun to his temple.

"Tell Mister J his jokes are funny."

He didn't obey. I clubbed him across the face with my gun. A spurt of blood hit the woman beside him.

"Laugh!"

The man made a pathetic noise, halfway between a sob and a gasp.

Satisfied, I reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He had an enormous wad of cash and a spiffy-looking credit card. I smelled the cash, then tossed it all in the pillowcase and jammed the empty wallet in his mouth. I reached in his other pocket and pulled out his car keys.

I squealed. "Ooh! A lamborghini man!"

He didn't meet my eyes. Blood trickled from his lips.

I stuffed the keys in my bra and ruffled his hair. "Thanks, mister."

A high giggle rose behind me. I whirled. Who the hell was laughing?

Across the lobby, kneeling among the ticket cue, the doe-eyed blondie was talking to Mister J. He'd stopped in front of her.

"… you want to get up the tower, I have connections," she said. "I'll get us in there."

"You don't want this lifestyle, baby," said Mister J. "It's exhausting."

She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "It would be fun with you."

Mister J tugged a lock of her blonde hair. "You saying you want to be my partner in crime?"

"Hey!" I roared, striding over.

The girl paled. Mister J whirled around.

I waved my pistol. "You interested in my man, puss?"

Mister J raised his hands. "Baby—"

I kicked the girl in the ribs and jabbed the barrel of my gun into Mister J's throat.

"Who you calling _baby_?"

He stepped back. "Harley, I was only—"

"I'm your partner in crime!"

"Of course you—"

Blondie scoffed. "It's not like you're _married_."

She sat up, rubbing her ribcage.

I shot her in the forehead. Blood sprayed the people around her, including me and Mister J. Several people screamed, then shut up when I waved my pistol at them.

Mister J sighed. He raised his green eyes to mine. "Pumpkin, you know you're the only girl in my life."

My heart fluttered at his words. I lowered my pistol. How could I stay mad at that face?

I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.

I heard the _CLICK!_ of a camera.

"All right," I shouted, peeling away, "who hasn't given us their phone yet?"

Sirens wailed in the distance. Mister J and I exchanged a dark look. _Showtime's over, ladies and gents._

Movement caught my eye through the hole we'd come in. I turned, but nothing was there.

 _THWACK!_

Mister J shouted, and I spun to see him grasping his wrist, the assault rifle on the floor.

"Puddin'!"

He was bleeding. I tried to grab his hand but he shoved me away.

"I'm fine."

I glanced around, pistol raised, trying to figure out what happened.

Something glinted on the floor. I picked it up. It was a metal blade, like a throwing star — except it had wings. It was shaped like a bat.

"Mister J, what—?"

Something whooshed past me, and I dropped the bat blade. I flung a hand to a sting on my upper arm. Warm blood seeped through my fingers.

My pulse quickened. Whatever was going on here, I didn't like it.

Without hesitating, I picked up Mister J's rifle and aimed for the cables holding the spaceship to the ceiling. It crashed into the screaming crowd, shattering into a thousand pieces and forming a wall between us and them.

A dark figure dropped into the crowd — was that a man? I didn't pause to decide. Mister J and I turned and fled through an emergency exit.

I pulled the lamborghini keys from my bra and clicked the alarm. Our ride home beckoned us.

We skidded to a stop in front of it. That was the first time I'd ever been turned on by a car. I didn't know enough about cars to know the model, but it was silver with wide vents in the side, sleek and geometric — shaped, I thought, like the embodiment of an orgasm.

I tossed the keys to Mister J. He caught them in one hand and slid into the driver's seat. I got in the passenger's. We stuffed the weapons and pillowcases at my feet.

Mister J caressed the steering wheel and moaned. "This leather feels like it's made of baby seals."

I put on my seatbelt, excitement constricting my chest. The car still smelled new.

Tires squealed. I braced myself against the door, laughing.

For a moment, I thought the cops tried to give chase — but we disappeared too quickly. Then it was just us, flying down the highway at a speed that left me breathless.

Mister J whooped. "I'm keeping this ride, Harley."

"Whatever you say, Mister J," I gasped.

As we peeled down the road, neither of us brought up our dark attacker. It had been too close a call. Who — or what — was it?

It didn't matter. The shiny new lamborghini made up for it, and we were safe, now.

Blood trickled from my arm and onto the leather seat. I pressed my palm over the wound to stem the flow. I wished I'd kept that bat blade so we could study it. I'd have to look it up later.

After twenty minutes of tripling the speed limit, we pulled into the parkade at Mister J's apartment. We grabbed the pillowcases and rode the elevator up, feeling the weight of our loot. Another successful heist, smooth as always. Despite the close call, Mister J must have been pleased.

He watched me closely, a lopsided grin on his lips.

I tugged him in for a kiss, unable to wipe the smile from my face.

Part of me expected him to pull back. But he kissed me again, harder. His hand reached around my waist. I arched into him. We moved against each other until the elevator stopped. We kept kissing, fumbling our way into the apartment.

I shoved him onto the bed and climbed on top of him before he could make a move. He tried to roll me over but I didn't let him. I pinned him down, kissing his lips, his face, his neck.

He dragged his fingers up my back, making me shiver. I gasped.

In my moment of inattention, Mister J flipped us over. I hissed in protest.

We kissed for a few minutes, both of us breathless. He broke away from my lips to kiss my neck. Then my collarbone. Then my chest. I whimpered, the sensation unbearable. He moved down to my stomach. Then he moved lower.

xx

"I take it back, Red," I shouted into the phone. "I know I said our first night together was the best of my life, but last night wins. You know what he did?"

I told her.

"Thank you for that disgusting amount of detail," said Pam.

"He was amazing. He really cared about my happiness."

"As things should be in a relationship."

I scoffed. "He's always cared. He just has a hard time showing it. He's a misunderstood kitten in a world of lions."

"Has he taken you on a real date yet? To dinner, or the movies?"

"We just came from the movies."

"All right. Just be careful, Harl."

My mind jumped to our dark attacker — yes, we would need to be careful of whatever that was — but then Pam said, "I mean, you've changed a lot for this guy. Are you even going to class anymore?"

"I found a more lucrative career path. What's your point?"

"I know he was, uh, good to you last night, but he seems to be using you for his own agenda."

I gasped. "Mister J is not _using me_."

"You want all of this as much as he does?"

"Yes!"

Pam fell silent.

I bit my lip. "I think I'm in love, Red."

She sighed. "You guys have the weirdest relationship I've ever heard of."


	6. Chapter 6: Batsy

I leaned over Mister J's shoulder. "I think we should use all our dough to go on vacation, puddin'."

He grunted. He sat on the living room floor, his attention on spray painting the assault rifle gold. His entire apartment smelled like paint fumes.

I grazed my lips up his neck. "Somewhere hot would be nice, you think?"

Mister J leaned away and swatted a hand as though a bee buzzed too close.

I stuck out my tongue at the back of his head and made for the kitchen. "I always thought Botswana looked fun. I like the hyenas. They have such adorable laughs. We could bring back a pup. More fun than a rottweiler, right?"

I popped a few Skittles in my mouth, watching him work. When he still didn't respond, I sighed.

"I'm going kickboxing."

I put on non-sparkly gym clothes and covered my hair with a baseball cap — deciding that regular people dressed _boring_ — and left. If he wanted time to romance his rifle, fine. But he would be mine when I got back, even if it meant tying him to the bed.

Outside, I called Pam.

She answered with, "Don't add that yet. I need to check it."

"Huh?"

"Sorry, Harl, I'm just — wait! I haven't measured — oh, nevermind."

I waited while something in the background made a _CLANK!_ and then Pam's breath returned to the phone.

"Are you cooking?" I said.

"Something like that — stop it!" She giggled.

"Who are you with?"

"Um, someone from school."

I gasped. "Red, do you have a boyfriend?"

"It's not — we're just working together."

"Can you plug that in?" said a man in the background.

"I'll call later if this is a bad time," I said.

Pam paused for too long before saying, "No, it's fine."

I frowned.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you…" she said. "I saw you on the news. The _national_ news."

I stopped walking. "Photos?"

"A lot of people have sent in pics in the last few weeks."

"You recognized me?"

"I'd know your face anywhere, babe. But—" She hesitated. "What happened?"

I glanced at my acid-bleached hand, making a fist. "Nothing. It's part of our cover."

"Did he do that to you?"

"Of course not. He would never hurt me."

"So it hurt, then."

I huffed. "It was an accident. We're both fine."

"Harl, he's dragging you into a scary lifestyle. It's a matter of time before the authorities find out who you are and come after you — or worse."

"Mister J isn't dragging me into anything," I said heatedly. "And no, they won't find out who we are. Harleen Quinzel is dead."

Pam's silence stretched for a long time. The man shouted for her to come back.

"I wish she wasn't, Harl. Sometimes I miss her."

"Enjoy your private cooking class," I said, and hung up.

I punched harder than ever in my kickboxing circuit, until my muscles failed and sweat beaded down my temples. The body opponent bag rocked wildly, threatening to topple but always righting itself in time for my next swing.

Pam's words hung uneasily over me. True, we'd committed bigger crimes than I'd expected since I agreed to break into ACE. But I could have gotten out of this at any time. I could leave him.

The problem was that I'd fallen madly in love with Mister J. He was the first man I'd ever loved and I couldn't imagine feeling that way about anyone else. No matter what he asked me to do, I would do it — theft, arson, or murder.

Pam might have been right, but sometimes love wins over logic.

When I returned to Mister J's apartment, he was standing in the kitchen with one arm in his leather jacket. He whirled around, eyes wide.

"Where were you?" His voice boomed through the small apartment.

"Kickboxing!"

He was over to me in two steps. He grabbed my upper arm and shook me hard enough to make me gasp.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"Ouch! Puddin', you're hurting—"

"I called you a million times!"

"I — oh."

He let go. I pulled my phone from my purse and saw I had nine missed calls and a text that said, _Where are you?_

"Baby, don't do that to me. I didn't know where you were or who you were with."

"I told you — I was only an hour—"

He wrapped his arms around me.

My heart swelled as I leaned into his chest. I inhaled his scent — currently a mixture of leather, sweat, and paint.

"I'm sorry, puddin'."

He dropped his jacket onto a chair. "You're here, now."

I tried to pull him into a kiss, but he turned away.

"I want to change focus, Harley. People don't carry enough cash on them, and most credit cards get cancelled before I can use them. We need to go bigger."

"Sure," I said, still trying to compose myself after his outburst. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"The big guys. The ones that control too much of this country. We need to burn them down. No one else will—"

Someone banged on the door.

Mister J whirled.

We stared at the door until they banged again.

Mister J's green eyes snapped to me. "Did someone follow you?"

I opened and closed my mouth. I hadn't seen anyone — but I also hadn't paid much attention.

"Mr. Roberts?" said a man. "We have a few questions."

I raised an eyebrow.

"The apartment's under a fake name," whispered Mister J. "I don't know how—"

"The lamborghini?" I whispered. "What if it's traceable?"

His eyes widened.

"Mr. Roberts, if you don't open the door we're going to force entry."

Mister J grabbed my arm. "We need to go."

"Where?"

"The window."

"We're twenty storeys up!"

He snarled, shoving me away. "Stay, then."

He grabbed his rifle, the gold paint still wet, and threw it towards the window. He disappeared into his bedroom, crashed around, and came out with a bedsheet.

"But how are you going to get twenty—?"

The window shattered, glass pouring across the floor. I screamed. A dark figure burst into the living room.

Terror seized me. He was all in black, with broad wings and a mask covering half his face. It was our attacker from the theatre.

Mister J lunged for the rifle. The Bat grabbed him by the collar. Mister J swung, and wet paint smeared across the Bat's suit.

They fell into the shards of glass, grunting. The rifle clattered to the floor. Mister J punched without restraint, striking the man across his exposed jaw.

I snatched my pistol from the counter, lip curling.

"Over here, Batsy."

Bats threw Mister J off him. Mister J skidded through the broken glass, trailing blood.

I squeezed the trigger and held it. A stream of bullets ricocheted off Bats' chest. He roared and stepped back, but the bullets didn't penetrate his suit.

"This way, puddin'!"

Mister J labored to his feet, still eyeing the rifle. I clenched my jaw and stepped forwards, not releasing the trigger. I grabbed Mister J by the arm and hauled him back with all the strength I had.

"Leave it. We need to go," I said through my teeth. "Get your revolver and shoot the guys—"

His arm came up, and my cheek burst with pain. I released the trigger and stumbled back, pressing a palm to my face. Had he just hit me?

Mister J dashed for the rifle. I aimed for Bats, but he threw something, and a blade sliced my hand. I dropped my pistol.

Bats threw another at Mister J, who leapt back into the bedroom.

The apartment door burst open and two cops came in, weapons raised, shouting.

Bats stopped.

For a sliver of time, I stood between the cops and Bats. The cops aimed their guns at both of us. Their eyes fell to the gold assault rifle by the window, and then to Bats, who had gold paint across his clothes.

Understanding hit me. They weren't working together. They didn't know who the Bat was.

I hunched my shoulders and backed against the wall, whimpering like a poor damsel. "Please help! He's tryin' to kill me."

I pointed at the Bat with a shaky finger.

The cops turned on him. "Sir, raise your hands—"

A gunshot rang and one of the cops fell. The other turned to his fallen partner, mouth agape.

Mister J stood in the bedroom door with his silver revolver.

At once, Bats dove for Mister J and Mister J dove for the window. The standing cop hollered into his radio.

Mister J pulled himself over the ledge and leapt out into the night. I screamed.

To my astonishment, he grabbed something hanging. It must have been Bats' rope. He slid down and disappeared. Bats looked over his shoulder at me and the cops.

"Arrest the girl," he said in a deep, harsh voice. "The Joker's mine."

He leapt out the window after Mister J, opening his arms so those enormous black wings spread wide.

The standing cop turned to me, then back to the window.

In the confusion, I snatched my pistol and ran for the door. I hurtled down the steps so fast that I crashed into the wall on each flight. A moment later, footsteps pounded above. If he caught up, I would have to turn and shoot.

I burst out the door and ran into the night. I sprinted faster than I'd ever done in my life, taking side streets and leaping into traffic.

The cop must have turned back for his fallen partner, because soon, I lost him.

When my legs couldn't carry me further and I retched from exertion, I stopped. I leaned against a wall in an alley, gasping for breath, coughing.

My hand stung where Bats had sliced it open — and my cheekbone throbbed where Mister J had hit me. Poor puddin' had been so scared.

Still gripping my pistol, I wiped a trembling arm across my face. Where was he? Had Bats caught him, or did he fall from twenty storeys up?

Even if he'd escaped Bats and survived the fall, he'd left without his phone. I had no way to contact him.

Tears welled in my eyes. Somehow, I had to find him. Until then, I hoped and wished with every cell in my body that, wherever my puddin' was, he was safe.

x️x

 _This is a fanfiction and the characters are not my own. If you like my writing, please check out my Mermaids of Eriana Kwai series - bit۔_ _ly/mermaidbook :)_


	7. Chapter 7: Property of Joker

My apartment was too silent. The ticking clock in the living room filled my head like a chorus of voices. I grabbed it and threw it. It hit the opposite wall and the glass face shattered. It kept ticking. I snatched my pistol from the counter and shot the battery out. The clock exploded across the floor — and so did the tile beneath it.

I dropped the pistol and wrapped my fingers in my hair, squeezing my eyes shut. I focused on each breath to stop them from turning into sobs.

He'd been gone three days. The media told me nothing. They didn't even mention the ordeal. Surely the death of the Clown Prince of Crime would be breaking news?

That meant he had to be alive. But what if Bats had captured him? What if he was torturing him at that moment?

It physically pained me not knowing.

I crossed to my laptop and refreshed the page on several newsfeeds. Nothing.

The more I reflected on the Bat, the cops, the ACE weapons, and the millions of dollars in stolen items, the more I decided we'd gone too far. At the first sign of the Bat, we should have stepped back. We should have been more careful. If we'd stuck with lower-profile crimes — quick, precise, focused — Mister J wouldn't have ended up in so much danger.

I stared at my phone, the home screen void of messages. The background image grinned up at me — a selfie of Mister J and I from a particularly interesting hold-up at the aquarium a few weeks back.

Each night since I'd lost him, I'd searched for him near ACE and the bar where we'd met. I imagined finding him waiting for me with that big smile—

A knock sounded.

I scrambled for the door with such haste that I kicked several pieces of clock and tile down the hall. I pressed an eye to the peephole and saw a face covered by a hat, sunglasses, and scarf.

"Who...?" My voice was broken. I tried again. "Who is it?"

He pulled his sunglasses up, revealing piercing green eyes. My knees weakened.

"Puddin'!" I threw the door open and reached for him. "I was so—"

Mister J strode past with a newspaper in his fist. He removed his disguise and threw it on the floor, not sparing a glance at the smashed clock.

"This explains it," he said through his teeth. "They identified us."

I didn't register his words. I tried to reach for him again, just to touch him, to feel his physical form and make sure he was really there.

"Puddin', where did you—?"

He thrust the newspaper at me. "About a hundred people sent photos of us."

He wasn't going to talk about anything else. Surrendering, I closed my fingers around the newspaper.

"We were dressed up, Mister J. They can't identify us."

He snarled. "Look at this one!"

On the front page, the largest of several photos, was the selfie of me and the doe-eyed blondie.

 _The last photo taken of Jessica Pressfield, 18, before she was murdered by notorious criminal Harley Quinn._

My face was sharp and clear. I inwardly cursed the camera quality on these new phones.

"Makeup or not — fingerprints or not — your features haven't changed, Miss _Harleen Quinzel_."

I raised my eyes to him, pulse quickening. My apartment was under my parents' names, not my own, but did that mean I was safe? How long did I have before the authorities found me?

"And we know they've figured out where I live," shouted Mister J, a vein in his temple pulsing.

"But — but they don't know who you are, really."

He threw up his arms. "Not yet!"

"Now, calm down, puddin'," I said, the words escaping as a whimper. "It's not that bad."

"They're a step away from catching us. We have to get smarter next time."

I opened and closed my mouth. _Next time?_ "We need to stop altogether, not hope another angle doesn't get us killed!"

He met my eyes, finally. "Don't be stupid, Harley. We're not letting an unfortunate run-in with the Bat ruin a good time."

He paced the apartment, kicking shards of glass and tile, fists clenched in his hair.

I dropped the newspaper and stepped closer. "Mister J, think about what could happen if we keep—"

"Shut up, Harley!"

His temper was flaring out of control, his breath coming too quickly. In an attempt at bringing him back to me, I extended a hand.

"Dance with me, Mister J."

He spun, fist raised. In a blink, I was on the ground, a pain in my collarbone.

"Now we don't even have that rifle," he shouted. "How can we do anything productive?"

The room darkened as he towered over me. Something changed in his eyes. Any softness had been replaced by something wild, desperate.

"We still have my pistol," I said — though I wasn't sure why. Maybe I hoped the remaining ACE weapon would bring me forgiveness.

Mister J whirled to where it lay on the floor. He hesitated, then picked it up, examining it.

"I'll use this next time. You can use my revolver."

Sitting on the floor below him, I averted my eyes from the dangerous look on his face.

"We'll get a new rifle tomorrow," he said.

Though his temper sent a pulse of adrenaline through me, telling me to flee, to hide, I had to protect him from himself. He wasn't thinking clearly.

"Mister J, we can't. They'll have increased security."

"The side of the building is still a big hole. We'll scale the wall and slip inside."

"If it's that easy to get in, I think they would have moved the weapons."

"We'll find them."

"No." I stood. "We're not going. We have to stop, Mister J. This is getting too dangerous. I don't want to lose y—"

He struck me across the face with the butt of the pistol. I gasped.

"We are not rolling over because of the _Bat_!"

"Yessir."

He stared at me for a moment, licked his lips, and dropped his gaze. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Meet me at ACE at ten tomorrow night."

He scooped up his disguise and dropped the silver revolver at my feet. Then he stormed out the door with my pistol clenched in his fist.

I looked down, shock setting in. Blood covered my hands and I realized I had landed on glass. Several pieces were embedded in my palms.

Outside, the sky darkened, pitching my apartment into blackness.

I lay awake until two A.M., eyes swollen from tears. My collarbone hurt. My cheek throbbed. I poked a tender spot where I'd landed on my hip.

Worst of all, my chest ached with an overwhelming sense of betrayal.

I picked up my phone. It rang several times. I almost hung up when Pam answered.

"Harleen?"

I barely heard her. Music blared in the background. People were hollering.

I tried to talk but couldn't get any words out. The only sound that came was a pathetic sob.

"Harl? Speak up, hun. I can't hear you that well."

I burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Red. You were right. He's a lunatic."

Pam breathed into the phone for a minute. Then the background noise dimmed. A door clicked shut.

"What happened?"

"He hit me, Red."

The line went silent for a long time.

"Did you report it?"

"Call the police? Ha!"

"Right." She hesitated. "Harl, you can't let him treat you like this."

But what could I do? Hit him back? Break up with him and hope he left me alone? Even if he seemed not to care, I knew beyond doubt that he would find me if I left.

"Harleen?"

"Hm?"

"I'm coming there. I just checked and there's a flight in a few hours."

"You don't have to—"

"Not an option."

Fat tears filled my eyes. "This was all for a laugh, at first. The heists were a crazy passion we shared. But it's not fun anymore. I can't believe the things I've done."

"Don't blame yourself—"

"I need to stop him before my life breaks beyond repair. If it hasn't already."

"It hasn't, babe. We can still fix this."

I poked at my ribs. "He wants me to go with him to steal another rifle tomorrow."

"That's not going to happen."

"How? What are we supposed to do?"

She paused. "What do you think we should do?"

The more I thought about it, the more my emotions gave way to venom. I should have set Mister J straight long ago. I deserved better — or at least, there had been a time when I did.

Deserving or not, I was the Queen of Gotham City. Whether I was Harley or Harleen, nobody was allowed to disrespect me like this.

My next words came easily, like I'd decided long ago. I had one choice.

"We need to get that jerk thrown in Arkham."


	8. Chapter 8: Toxins

I offered to pick Pam up from the airport, but she told me not to leave my apartment. That was probably a good idea given my state as Gotham's most wanted criminal.

The knock came and I bounded to the door. I opened it to her slender, pretty face and mane of red hair. She wore a striped tee and jeans and wheeled a piece of carry-on luggage.

I couldn't help smiling. Until that moment, I hadn't realized how much I missed my best friend.

She held up a jar. "This was sitting outside your door."

I took it slowly. It was vanilla pudding. A playing card had been attached to it with a rubber band. I unfolded it to find the Joker card from that first heist at the casino.

My eyes filled with tears.

"Ohhh no," said Pam.

Before I could protest, she snatched it from me.

"No!" I squeaked.

Pam snarled, opening the trash can. "Yes."

"This is him apologizing, Red!"

"He's manipulating you! Have some self-respect."

She dropped it in the bin. I clenched my fists, which sent a jolt of pain up both arms from my barely healed cuts.

She was right. I couldn't let a weak apology erase what Mister J had done to me.

When she turned back, her face softened. I must have looked like a sorry mess, with tears streaming down my cheeks and my hair a ball of frizz.

"Come here." She pulled me into a hug that smelled like perfume and flowers.

"Red, thank you—"

She shushed me.

I invited her to bring her luggage into my room and freshen up. I sat on the bed and listened while she told me about her trip over.

"Now, about our situation," she said. "I have a plan."

My insides squirmed. I checked the time. Seven o'clock. "Good, because I'm meeting him in three hours."

"Where?"

"The research facility."

She scoffed. "He wants to steal from the same place as before? Oh, that's brilliant."

"I tried to tell him."

"Whatever. Maybe the cops will arrest him—"

"He'll stick a hundred bullets in anyone who shows up. We need to get to him before they do."

Pam's long red hair fell over her shoulders as she rummaged in her bag, tossing clothes around. Something in her aura was more intense, harder than when I'd last seen her. And her appearance — was she taller? Curvier? More tanned?

"You seem... different," I said, unable to put my finger on it.

She faced me, pain flickering in her expression.

"Remember that cute prof I told you about?" she said after a hesitation.

"Yeah."

She went back to rummaging. "He turned out to be an asshole."

"Boy, what's wrong with our taste in men?"

"I don't know, but I've decided I'm done with men for a while."

I crossed my arms. "Me, too."

"Anyway, it worked out for the best," she said. "Come here so I can stab you with this."

"Excuse me?"

She held up a syringe. "I need to inject you with this so you aren't affected by the toxins we're going to use on your Mr. Joker."

Something must have changed on my face because she said, "Relax, it won't hurt."

I didn't move.

"Look, I've tested it thoroughly. I promise it's safe."

I sighed and stepped closer. She pulled back my sleeve.

I covered my eyes with my free hand and turned away. "Ew, ew, ew…"

"Done," she said.

The pain had been minimal, but I felt a lightness in my head at the thought of the needle.

She rubbed my arm with a soft, cool hand. "You all right?"

I nodded. She tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, studying my face.

"I should never have left," she whispered.

"This would've happened even if you'd stayed. Mister J and I are — were —"

"Don't say _destined to meet_ , or some bull. He's a murderous psychopath and you deserve better."

"I'm just as wicked as he is."

"You're not. He made you this way."

I bit my lip. Maybe that was true. Maybe Mister J was the real psychopath here, and for all I knew, I was next on his hit list.

While Pam fixed her hair, I began applying my makeup for the evening. I already knew what I would wear: red and blue hot pants, thigh-high socks, and a corset. My sexiest outfit for our last evening out.

 _I hope you miss me, Mister J._

I stared at my reflection and worried Mister J would notice my uncharacteristic frown tonight. So I swept my reddest lipstick across my cheeks from ear to ear — giving myself a big, messy, bloody-looking grin. Better.

"Was your prof a murderous psychopath, too?" I said to Pam.

"No. But he did hurt me."

I spun and raked my eyes over her.

"Not like that," she said. "He wanted a student to help him with some experiments. I volunteered and... I mean, he was so charming, I thought..."

"But you realized he was using you for his own agenda."

She dropped her gaze. I recalled her saying that about Mister J and me. She'd been projecting. I should have picked up on that. I'd been too caught up in my own life to notice.

"I let him inject me with toxins," she said. "It nearly killed me."

"What did it do?"

She shrugged. "I can't figure it out. Something's wrong with my whole body chemistry. It's like my pheromones are toxic."

"Pheromones?"

"I have a weird effect on men."

When I continued to stare in confusion, she added, "Bad things happen when I touch them."

"Huh. In that case, would you do me a favor and give Mister J a big kiss for me?"

She smiled a little.

"To think," I said bitterly, "I thought he loved me."

Pam sat next to me and squeezed my shoulders. "I love you, Harleen. Unconditionally."

"Harley," I whispered.

She shook her head, laughing. "Fine. If I'm going to call you Harley, then you have to do something for me."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Call me Poison Ivy."

xx

 _Author note: Thank you so much for all the reads! Please help this story reach its audience by favoriting and reviewing :D_


	9. Chapter 9: Down In Flames

Mister J's silver revolver sat heavy and cold in my fist. Ivy strode next to me down the empty street, swift and silent, red hair covered by a black hoodie. Her confidence was everything I needed to keep walking.

I extended an arm and stopped her before we turned onto Industrial Street. "He's probably waiting."

She passed me a travel-sized shampoo bottle containing the toxins. All I had to do was open it, and Mister J would be unconscious in seconds.

Ivy held on for a moment. " _Inside_ , right? Don't open this anywhere except an enclosed space. I haven't tested it enough and it might knock out everyone nearby."

 _Except you_ , was the unfinished part of the sentence. My arm ached where she'd injected me.

I slipped the bottle inside my bomber jacket and turned.

"You're better than him, Harley," said Ivy. "Remember that when he tries to get inside your head."

I hesitated, then kept walking. Though she'd been telling me so, I didn't know if I believed it. I'd committed crimes just as terrible.

Still, I wouldn't have done any of this if not for him. He was out of control, and I was the only one who could get close enough to stop him. I had to put an end to this while I had some sanity left.

 _You sure about the sanity part?_ said a voice in my head, as I strolled towards ACE with a blood-red smile painted from ear to ear.

Mister J was waiting for me in the alley near the _ACE Research Facility_ sign, wearing a purple blazer that I might have once considered adorable. I stopped several feet away.

"Ready, pumpkin?" he said.

I gritted my teeth at that tone. He spoke like nothing had happened — like this was date night, same as always.

"Ready, puddin'."

I hoped my tone was the same.

We crept around to the gap in the fence from which we'd escaped last time. A floodlight illuminated the gaping hole in the building. Scaffolding snaked up the side and loose sheets of plastic flapped in the wind.

Mister J took careful aim — with my pistol, I noted with anger — and shattered the bulb with a _POP!_

Plunged into darkness, we moved hastily before security would come to investigate. I followed Mister J, climbing the scaffolding with quick hands and feet.

Sure enough, the Chemical Firearms room had been cleared. Wind blew through the space with a hollow sound. I shivered.

"As I suspected," said Mister J. "Empty as the Batman's skull."

I followed him across the room, giving the barely patched hole in the floor a wide berth.

"I imagine they'll be on the same floor. A lot of work to move all those goods." Carefully, he unlocked the door and grasped the handle. "When I open this, we need to move fast, baby. You ready?"

I nodded, raising the silver revolver.

The moment the door swung open, the alarm started wailing. We stepped into the blindingly bright hall with its white walls and steel doors.

"Honey, I'm home!" said Mister J, opening his arms.

I couldn't bring myself to play. Mister J turned to me, eyebrows raised. He put a hand under my chin.

"Why so serious?"

Though he grinned, it didn't reach his eyes. I could think of nothing to say. After a moment under his searching stare, I turned my head, freeing my chin from his cold hand.

Mister J sighed and continued walking. "We can talk about your feelings later, Doctor."

He scanned each door as though hoping to find an obvious label for the new weapons room.

I needed to do it now. The hall was hardly an enclosed space, but nobody was around, and security would come running any second. I couldn't let them catch us — nor, I reminded myself, let Mister J shoot them.

As discreetly as I could, I tucked the revolver in the back of my shorts and pulled out the bottle of toxins.

Mister J checked the next door — and he must have seen the movement from the corner of his eye. He spun, gaze landing on the bottle in my hand.

Before I could react, he lunged with the speed of a striking cobra. His forearm crashed into mine and knocked the bottle from my grip. It clattered to the floor and rolled away.

His green eyes met mine. For a fraction of time, I caught surprise — and then anger. He grabbed my throat and pushed me backwards. I reached up with both hands, trying to pry his fingers. He walked me back until I slammed into the wall with a gasp.

"What is that?" he hissed.

He squeezed my throat until I couldn't breathe. I was too panicked to think.

"What are you planning, Harley?"

I opened and closed my mouth, tugging at his fingers. Mister J seemed to notice he was suffocating me and let go. I gasped.

Then his hands were on me, searching for the revolver. He found it and threw it aside.

"Harley, what the hell—?"

I drove my knee into his groin. He stumbled back with an "OOMPH!"

I gave my hardest roundhouse kick, getting him in the knees. He fell. I reached for his pistol — _my_ pistol. He tried to grab it back but I punched him in the throat. He gagged. I stumbled backwards, panting, pistol aimed.

"Joke's over, Mister."

The alarm still wailed, drilling into my brain, making it hard to think.

Mister J raised himself to his knees, rubbing his throat. "Aw, baby, did I hurt your feelings so bad that you want to kill me?"

I glared at him.

His thin lips curled into a sneer. "You wouldn't."

I pulled back the hammer.

He studied my face, and whatever he saw made his expression darken. He stood. "I made you who you are. You'd still be in a lab coaxing a rat through a maze if not for me."

"You didn't make me, Mister J! I'm not your freak, like some Bride of Frankenstein—"

"Admit it, Harley! You belong to me and you love it that way."

I gritted my teeth, tears springing. "You don't own me—"

"You're mine, and this city is yours." He opened his arms. "I'm the Clown Prince of Gotham, and you're my Queen."

 _Take him out_ , said Ivy's voice in my head. _He's playing you. You deserve better—_

"You can't kill the man who loves you, baby."

The arm holding the pistol suddenly felt heavy. "You what?"

Mister J stepped closer. "I love you, Harley Quinn. I've loved you since the moment I saw you. Right outside this building. You remember?"

My heart thrummed. I shook my head violently, as though to dislodge him from it.

"Stop! You can't keep doing this, you nutcase."

He reached out, carefully, and pushed aside the barrel of the gun. Though my brain said no, I let him.

"We can work through this, baby. We're building a kingdom together. Don't let everything we have go to waste."

My hands trembled. Slowly, I lowered the pistol. Relief melted across Mister J's face. He gave me a lopsided grin that made me think of our first night together. The nightclub, the dancing, the pudding shots — and his apartment afterwards.

I held out a hand. "Dance with me, Mister J."

He took it. I pulled him in — _But he's lying! Remember how badly he hurt you. He'll do it again. Think of the life you could have with someone who treats you properly_ — and I kissed him.

He kissed me back, tasting like whiskey. I pressed my body closer, running my fingers through his hair.

"See?" he murmured. "You'll always come back to me. Now let's stop this idiocy and find those weapons."

He tried to pull back, but I held on. My brain clouded over with something like rage, and sadness, and resolve. Somewhere in the last few weeks, our crimes had become more important to Mister J than I was. I had become a possession to him, or a pet, like a trained monkey.

I could not allow that.

The smile fell from my face. My grip tightened around the back of his neck, nails digging into his flesh. Fury squeezed my throat.

Mister J's eyes widened.

"Goodbye, puddin'."

In one motion, I raised the pistol to his forehead and squeezed the trigger.

But something smashed into me, knocking me sideways. The bullets skimmed Mister J's ear and ricocheted off the wall.

I grunted as someone threw me onto my stomach.

"Miss Quinzel, you're under arrest!"

The cop's full weight landed on my back, holding me to the cold floor. A struggle was going on beside me. I turned my head to see Bats and Mister J attacking each other. Weaponless, Mister J couldn't fight him off for long, and soon Bats had him pinned.

Then Mister J's green eyes met mine, scared and defeated. Everything clouding my brain dissipated.

What had I done? I'd let rage take over and I'd nearly killed the man who loved me. What if he was the only man who would ever love me? I looked down at my acid-bleached skin. I was a freak. _His_ freak.

Batsy handcuffed Mister J and hauled him to his feet. He dragged him to the stairwell.

"Wait!" I screamed.

The officer on my back locked one of my wrists in cuffs — and with a burst of adrenaline, I twisted, unseating him. He slid sideways and I got my leg around him, enough to shove him off me. I straddled him and drove my elbow into his ribs. It was the one from the fire, O'Brien. He punched me in the jaw. I tasted blood. I punched him repeatedly, letting the blood dribble from my mouth onto his face. I kept hitting him until he stopped trying to fight back, and instead raised his arms to protect his face.

I sprang to my feet and ran after Mister J, sobbing.

"Puddin', I'm sorry!"

But by the time I made it down the stairs and out the door, they were stuffing him into the back of a police car.

"No!"

I would not be separated from my Mister J. We were the Clown Prince and his Queen — the Joker and his Harlequin.

A gun clicked behind me.

"Harleen Quinzel," said O'Brien through a mouthful of blood.

"Harley!" I shouted, rounding on him. "My name is Harley!"

"You're under arrest—"

His eyes rolled back. His knees buckled, and he fell. Ivy was standing behind him wearing a violently red shade of lipstick.

She stepped over O'Brien and grabbed my hand.

"Wait—"

"Harley, we have to go."

I dug in my heels and fought back, trying to wrench my arm free. Ivy pulled harder.

"They're taking him!" I shouted.

Ivy grabbed me by the jaw, forcing me to look at her. "They're about to take you, too. Remember what we talked about. Please."

I paused, breathing hard, warm blood dribbling from my lips. I wiped an arm across my chin, and then my cheek, angry at the tears for escaping.

Ivy held out a hand. I took it.

We ran.


	10. Chapter 10: Killer Queens

Even the biggest bacon-cheeseburger at the greasiest pub in Gotham couldn't lift my spirits. The chocolate milkshake helped a little, but I'd finished that in minutes. Now I was left with the stench of second-hand smoke and the dismal brown ambience.

I prodded the basket of soggy fries, fighting my trembling lip.

Across from me in the cracked leather booth, Ivy sighed and leaned back. "See what he's done to you? Harleen Quinzel would have never let a man control her emotions."

"Harleen Quinzel was never in love."

"You can be in love and still be your own person."

I squashed a fry, watching the vinegar ooze into the red and white checkered paper.

Regret overwhelmed me — but I couldn't decipher what, exactly, I was regretting.

Mister J would be in Arkham right now. He was too loony for Blackgate Penitentiary. They would have taken me to Arkham, too, if not for Ivy. I deserved it. Part of me wanted to be there with him — but the other part of me was glad that stupid jerk was locked away and out of my sight.

My emotions switched rapidly between these states, leaving me flustered and wanting to drown myself in another milkshake.

"Excuse me, ladies," said a voice, and Ivy and I turned raised eyebrows on the source.

A twenty-something guy stood next to our table with a glass of beer. He was clean-shaven with soft, blue eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled. His arms were muscular beneath a green polo shirt.

"I wondered if I could buy you drinks," he said, still with that sincere smile.

I left it to Ivy, too depleted to care. She smiled and said in her smooth, deep voice, "Sure. We're having milkshakes."

"My kinda girls."

He waved at the waitress and motioned for two more milkshakes, then sat in the booth. Ivy leaned away a little, evidently afraid of her own abilities.

"What brings you ladies here on a sunny day like this?"

"Drowning sorrows," said Ivy.

The guy looked at me. I supposed it was obvious I was the one dealing with heartbreak, with my frumpy attire and puffy, teary, makeupless face.

"Need me to beat anyone up for you?" he said.

I almost smiled. "I've got it covered, mister."

The guy raised his glass to his lips, paused, then set it down. He kept staring at me, something forming behind his blue eyes. "You look familiar."

I gave a noncommittal grunt and stuffed a cold fry in my mouth.

"Wait." The guy's smile fell. His jaw slackened.

His gaze flicked over my acid-bleached skin, then to the strands of pink and blue hair peeking from my baseball cap. He stood abruptly, hesitated as though to say something, then walked — no, ran — for the door.

I watched him bolt away, glance back, then take off down the street.

"Pussy," said Ivy.

I threw my hands up. "See what my life has in store, Red? I'm damaged goods."

Ivy's face melted into some mixture of pity and amusement. Her arm jerked, like she wanted to reach for me across the table but stopped herself.

"You're not damaged, Harl. You're the Queen of Crime. You need to find someone who isn't afraid of a girl who gets what she wants."

We accepted our new milkshakes from the waitress and drank them in silence. I blinked a lot, willing the tears to stay inside my eye sockets.

Ivy made a frustrated sound and combed her fingers through her mane of hair. "All right. I'll make you a deal."

I lifted my gaze, not taking the straw from my mouth. She went on.

"You prove to me that you can be your own person — that you don't need Joker like some pathetic damsel — and I'll help you bust him out of Arkham."

I choked on my milkshake. "What? Really?"

"You have to prove it to me. Give it a year."

"Three months."

"Ten."

"A week."

"I — you're not very good at bargaining."

I stuck out my tongue.

"A year, Harley. Then I promise I'll help you get Mister J back."

"I see what you're doing," I said, pointing at her with my straw. "You're hoping by the time my year's up, I'll realize I'm happier without him and change my mind."

She lifted one shoulder. "Girl can dream. But I'll keep my promise."

My heart swelled — for Mister J, and for the girl sitting across from me.

"You're the best friend a girl can ask for, Red."

Her lips quirked in an almost-smile, but her eyes stayed sad.

I glanced at the door where the guy had disappeared. "Before he recognized me, you realize how easily we could have seduced him, knocked him out, and stolen his wallet?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I expected Ivy to scold me, to tell me I was off to a bad start and doing nothing to prove I'd changed.

But she stared after him, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. She traced a finger over her lips. I thought of that violently red shade of lipstick in her pocket.

"I'm moving back here permanently," she said abruptly.

For the first time that day, I smiled. "Really? Can we be roomies?"

"Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

"Oh, and you're the best person for that job, Miss _Poison Ivy_?"

She paused. "Fair enough. Maybe we can get into trouble together, then."

I considered. Getting into trouble with my best friend — now there was something I'd missed. Excitement leapt in my chest. I had the funny feeling _trouble_ meant something different now than it did before she'd left.

"Where should we start?" I said.

Ivy pulled out her lipstick. She applied it thickly, the bright red shade popping against the dim backdrop.

She flashed me a wicked grin. "Why don't we go dancing?"

THE END

 _Author note: Oh my god, this begs for a Harley x Ivy sequel. I hope to write another fic soon, but in the meantime, check out my Mermaids of Eriana Kwai series on Goodreads & Amazon for badass warrior women and Girl x Mermaid!_

 _This story is dedicated to you. This was my first fanfic and was more fun to write and share with you than I ever imagined. Thank you so much for reading. xox_


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